Eighth September
I woke up on Phobos's back,imprints of his scales temporarily tattooed on my cheek. My parent's castle loomed over us, and I thought of my warm bed there. Was it still there? Had they kept my room all these years? It didn't matter. Soon, nothing in the castle would matter. I had dozed while Phobos had flown here, knowing I would need sleep for the task that lay ahead. Tonight, my father would die.
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